


Is She Pretty?

by CloudWatching



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Death Threats, Dubious Consent, F/F, Gags, Knifeplay, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudWatching/pseuds/CloudWatching
Summary: (A work imported from my tumblr, queerconfusionthings, to which I might start importing more works? reader is referred to as a woman with a vagina in this, if you want any sort of variation, just request it and i'll be up for it)Missy finds you lost and all alone, and becomes violently curious when you mention the Doctor as 'she'.
Relationships: Missy (Doctor Who)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Is She Pretty?

**Author's Note:**

> (This was based on a horny anon from isis-astarte-diana)
> 
> I deleted my other fics from ao3 because oh god, they're just horny messes, much like this may be, but i do plan to maybe rewrite them when i get the chance.
> 
> Also, please don't read on if you're uncomfortable with any of the tags, thanks xx

“Doctor!” You shouted out once more, heels aching as you trekked through the sand ridden ghost town in search for the woman that had seemingly abandoned you. “Not gonna let her talk her way outta this,” you mumble, more as a reminder to yourself than anything else, as you lean back against an ally wall. “Doct- "

A hand slammed over your mouth, shoving your head backwards into the brick and prompting swift tears to form at the corners of your eyes, along with a now muffled cry. Their nails dug into your cheek in what seemed to be purposeful brutality, and by the time you managed to focus the blurriness of their figure, something sharp and protruding pressed against the skin between your ribs, causing an uncomfortable intake of breath to avoid injury. “Be quiet poppet, or I will pop those lungs.”

She’d enunciated the ‘pop’ with such glee, the Scottish lady in an oddly Edwardian attire, dark brown frizzled hair framing the joyous snarl. You furrowed your eyebrows in clear cut confusion, glancing down to see the knife gripped rather tightly in her hand and just slightly poking out of her sleeve.

“Now, the Doctor- is she pretty?” You shrunk back further, but you were only followed as she leant in closer. “I think you said ‘she’, but it’s hard to tell you see. I’m not often in the habit of paying attention to a wee stray human, and these genders are ever so complicated.”

Her eyes bore into your own with unclear intent, they were far too much to look away from, and you had the sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t like it if you did.

“Oh! Oh right, silly me!” she pulled her hand away, but kept the knife exactly where it was, poking into soft flesh with just enough force to be a warning.

You said nothing, far too frozen to think of moving. Your lips moved a few times, but you weren’t too sure whether it was your current inability to get a proper word out or simple shaking fear.

“Come on now, don’t be shy!” she gave in mock encouragement.

“What?” You said quietly.

“The Doctor. Is. She. Pretty?” After another moment of silence, she moved the knife quicker than you could track it, and when it returned to the spot below one of your ribs, you’d made a strangled yelp against the sting and trickling of blood now flowing down your cheek. She absolutely cackled, but there was an annoyance to the tone that made you distinctively uncomfortable. “I can always look into your tiny, idiotic brain now, so don’t go lying.” It was incredibly patronising and high pitched, and you suspected that was on purpose.

“Yes?” As soon as you’d spoken, that trickle of blood caught your lip, making you more nauseous than expected.

“She is, is she? That’s a change. What does she look like?” She winked, a rather exaggerated gesture that created an unidentifiable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You swallowed, noting the fact that she seemed very willing to wield the knife in a more fatal manner, if not enthusiastic. “Blonde? She’s, uh- she’s blonde.”

“Oh her vanity levels must be through the roof!” She laughed as if this was a joke you were meant to be on, slapping your shoulder in mock amusement at her own jab.

“Please, I- “

Her hand returned to your mouth with force, resonating with speed that made it more of a slap. You winced, her palm smearing the blood around the bottom of your face as she shifted. “Hush now. Let's not spoil the moment with a flopping corpse before we've even gotten to the introductions."

She seemed to swing from emotion to emotion, but in a calculated manner, as if it was all one big laugh she didn't fancy letting anyone else in on. It was entirely fascinating. It would be more so if you were allowed to watch from the sidelines rather than participate as the unwilling victim of her antics.

"I'm Missy," she said with a sneering smile. "You can call me Mistress," it was certainly a command, and she really didn't have to reiterate it, because your whimper against her palm said everything itself.

It could have barely been a vibration against her palm, it was so quiet, and yet she _felt_ it. Missy felt it and one sculpted eyebrow raised ever so slowly, a hardly there smirk showing itself through a small quirk of the corner of her lips. It was a stupid name, a stupid egocentric, provocative name.

"Now what, dearie, can I call you?" When she released her near vacuum tight seal created with her hand, you moved to respond, but she only pushed it back with yet another manic cackle. "No, no, don't be simple, dear, I don't _want_ to actually know."

You were almost used to her hand there, the knife below your ribs, but she wiggled around just enough to make you continuously uncomfortable. Her nails dug into the cut made on your cheek, prompting another wince, and the knife shifted upwards, primarily you assumed so she could gain some amused gratification out of seeing you attempt to escape it on your tip toes.

A knee came upwards from the skirt of her corseted dress, and pressed right inbetween your thighs. You couldn't help but squeak at the unescapable pressure, to which she didn't seem at all deterred by. It was far too firm, something very in character for what you'd had to experience from Missy in the short time of your unceremonius meeting.

Even if her next words seemed in charcter, they still made you squirm, which perhaps was the defining feature for anything Missy said. "Are you enjoying yourself at least just a teensy bit?"

Before you could make any movement, her face turned serious, expression stoic, hollowed cheekbones suddenly much more sinister. "Don't lie, I'll gut your insides while you flail about screaming."

The threat should really have made you rethink your answer, but you reaction was only physical, you attempted to reason, as twisted as it was. 

You nodded.

Her thin lined sneer split into a wide grin. It was how you imagined a wolf might smile before gobbling it's prey whole, her teeth bared and ready to clamp down. "Aren't you just the derranged little thing. No survival instinct whatsoever. You're practically defunct. Well then, pop em off."

What? There was an obvious connotation behind the command, but it baffled you nonetheless. Was she expecting you to pull your trousers down while her knife threatened to silce up your flesh? Out of all the things she'd uttered to you so casually, this seemed the most crazed of them.

"The Doctor's tagalongs really do get more and more stupid, don't they?" She sighed with clear exageration, pulling the knife away for just a moment to skin it across the button of your jeans. It pinged off with a clash to the ground barely audible compares to the repetitive thumping of your heart. "Maybe it's a fetish."

She shoved the material down to your ankles with the heel of her boot, scraping a long graze down the side of your thighs. Your cheeks felt as though they'd been set ablaze compared to the cold of Missy's hand, your sudden exposure to the desolate streets absolutely mortifying. She was a stranger. She was a stranger that had previously laid out intent to carve out your lungs, called herself the 'Mistress', and was clearly more interested in gauging information on the Doctor.

She was largely indifferent to it, using the knife to cut the sides of your pants without warning. "Such an inconveniance." With a huff, Missy pulled out a folded handkerchief and shoved it straight past your lips, using her thumb to push it into a position that pinned your tongue down. You gagged, now barely paring attention to the fact she was pocketing your pants having completely exposed your bottom half, to which she herself was impassive.

She patted your cheek rather firmly twice, forcing your head sideways, smiling with an odd sort of pride at the spittle running down the dried patch of blood. The blade returned to your abdomin then, your breath hitching which you really should have suspected, the previous absence of it creating a much larger sharpness and discomfort.

It became more arousing than terrifying when Missy's forefinger circled around your vulva, something she picked up on without effort. "Oh my, we _are_ soaking." She pressed down on your clit, practically crushing it, eyes lifting straight back to yours to properly witness the choked and spluttering whimper she'd directly caused.

She circled your clit for a moment or two, before impatience got the better of her, and she slammed it in with no pre-warning, seemingly getting off on the muffled cry you gave against the makeshift gag. "Oh don't be such a baby," she chastised, promptly slipping in another to begin her brutal thrusting, repeatedly pushing you against the bricked wall with the force of it. Your eyes were fluttering shut, but she wasn't having that, slashing the knife across where it lay, tearing your shirt and leaving an angry cut in its wake. The subsequent yell produced an embarrassing amount of spit that dribbled down your bottom lip.

She laughed at you once again, but you supposed the state of you was laughable. Trousers strung at your ankles, spittle trickling down from the deeply pushed gag, dried blood smeared all over your face, and your shirt now in ruin as the stinging sensation left even more blood in its wake.

She barely hesitated to add another finger, slipping it past your wetness, smirk perfectly crafted into sadistic amusement as she stretched you out with a series of curls and twists. Even with the gag, however, the consistantly loud moans seemed to bother her, the depths of her blue eyes growing colder as she practically growled a "Hush, no one likes a squealing little girl."

Your brows were drawn together in mortification and bewilderment at what you were doing, as you didn't have much capacity to express anything else while her thumb experimented in pressure circling your clit, fingers repeatedly hitting your back walls.

The pleasure was majorly outshone by the pain, but that only made you wetter, your arousal practically dripping down her wrist.

In fact, it was an embarrassingly short amount of time before you cried out for the final time, barely holding yourself up against the knife as your form threatened to crumple down. Your eyes had rolled to the back of your head, and she'd unceremoniously tugged her fingers out and dragged them down every part of your face.

In a dazed state you hardly noticed the fact that your face was smeared in your own cum, such was your state of mess already. "Well," she said, pushing the knife back up her sleeve, "I almost regret not killing you after that. Might give you a peaceful one if you get down to your knees and- "

" _Missy_?"

Your eyes snapped open, glancing past Missy's shoulder to a sight that made you believe a death would be much more merciful than what awaited. Missy's eyes only sparkled, lips tugging upwards in joy. She pulled up the other sleeve and pressed her hand, now sullied with your blood, down on a device that lay on her wrist, promptly disappearing _just like that_.

You could hardly look at the Doctor, yet could hardly look away.

Oh fuck.


End file.
